


The Holmesian Experience

by dapperyklutz



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A lot of talk about food, A lot of talking in general, Alternate Universe - Food Service, But also a lot of talk about filmmaking, Canon Divergence, Chef!Sherlock, Chef's Table AU, Filming, Filmmaker!John, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV John Watson, Pre-Slash, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-16 22:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperyklutz/pseuds/dapperyklutz
Summary: John is a filmmaker who's signed on to direct an episode of the fourth season of Chef's Table. There, he meets world-renowned chef Sherlock Holmes. For six weeks, John and his crew will have to film and follow Sherlock, as well as interview him and his family, friends, and colleagues to help better understand the enigma behind the owner of the most sought-out restaurant in the country.However, little did John know that in his pursuit to learn more about Sherlock's past, he gets more than he bargained for.A Chef's Table AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just an experiment. After binge watching all three seasons of Chef's Table, I couldn't shake this idea off about a Sherlock AU. So yeah, here I am. I have a rough outline of the plot, so please bear with me. It's been years since I last wrote a Sherlock fic, and I'm really nervous (but excited) to share this with you. So mainly, this story will revolve around Sherlock and his success story. There won't be much technical here in regards to the culinary arts, except when it's absolutely needed.
> 
> I'm also sort of following the show's format, but I'm going to be providing context like what's going on behind the scenes and what it's like to be filming a documentary. All this is taken from what little experience I had in filmmaking, plus what knowledge I've garnered over the years and also research.
> 
> All mistakes committed are mine, and please do let me know what you think! Enjoy!
> 
> (PS The title is just a working title, so I might or might not change it.)

“We’re on in ten.”

“Lights are good? Cameras are in place?”

“Yeah —“

“Harry, this one’s not in focus.”

“Is it? Ah fuck, give me a mo’.”

“Yeah, sure. Make it quick. Clara, where is he?”

“Uh, I… I think he went down, boss.”

“What?”

“I think he went down. I saw him go down with Mr. Lestrade.”

“Oh, for the love of — Mark, hey! Mark!”

“Yes, Mr. Watson, sir!”

“Er, just John would do, mate.”

“Oh, okay —“

“Do you know where Sherlock Holmes is?”

“Yes, sir — I mean, John! — I do. He went down for a smoke break with Mr. Lestrade.”

“For fuck’s sake — okay, thank you, Mark. Let me just —“

“Cameras are all focused and ready, Johnny.”

“Ta, Harry.”

“John, I just called Mr. Holmes to come up now. He’s on his way.”

“He never should’ve left in the first place. Thanks, Clara, you’re a star.”

“First day of filming and you look ready to burst, Johnny.”

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Is it because he - what did he call it? - ‘deduced’ your recently failed relationship? Ha! That was fucking gold.”

“I said shut it.”

“Oh, lighten the fuck up, Johnny. We —“

“Are you ready?”

A deep, baritone voice interrupts the bickering and John and Harry look up from their spot near the fireplace of 221B Baker Street. John’s eyes fix on the tall, well-dressed man with dark curly hair and bright blue-grey eyes who just entered the currently crammed living room. Lighting equipment are placed around the room, with three cameras attached on tripods positioned on three different angles facing a black armchair. Bookshelves filled haphazardly with books and other paraphernalia lined one corner of the room, while the other side had a coffee table filled with more books, scraps of paper with sketches and recipes written in a spidery scrawl that could only belong to the man whom John and his crew are signed to film, interview, and shadow for the next six weeks.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, we are,” John answers politely with a strained smile. He nods to one of his crew standing idly on the side and adds, “Chrissy, will you please attach the lapel to Mr. Holmes’ shirt? We’ll be filming shortly.”

Harry had already moved to her place behind the camera while John maneuvers around Sherlock as the dark curly-haired man walks towards his armchair. Chrissy proceeds to attach the lapel to his purple dress shirt that looked a size smaller, and one of the stylists walks up to the front and fixes Sherlock’s hair. Though, she quickly retreats after receiving a glare when she attempted to powder his face.

John coughs to cover his amusement as he takes a seat on the director’s chair. Clara shoots him a curious glance before going to the front of the camera, timecode slate in hand.

“Okay, Mr. Holmes —“ John begins.

“Please, call me Sherlock,” interrupts Sherlock with a tilt of his head. “Can’t be too formal now, can you? After all, all of you will be in my presence for the next six weeks.”

Nobody in the room knew if it was meant to be a joke, so no one laughed. There was a shuffle of feet, someone clearing their throat from the back, and the slightly awkward silence made the pale man in front of the camera flush slightly with what could only be called as mild embarrassment.

John, however, quickly recovers and he acknowledges the request with a genuine smile this time.

“Of course, er, Sherlock,” John says, shifting in his seat. He clears his throat and then starts over again. “Okay, so today’s just going to be really simple. Tell us about yourself and what you do. What your philosophy is in your profession, what or who inspires you in your craft. But feel free to go deep into the details as well. We highly encourage it.”

From his position behind Harry, John sees the minuscule shift of Sherlock’s left brow, a small frown appearing on his face.

“How long am I supposed to talk, then?” Sherlock asks, for once sounding hesitant.

John shrugs.

“From my experience, I can’t tell you when to stop. That usually ends with our interviewee floundering for words, and we have to do pick-ups. So just, er, speak from your heart. And don’t be conscious of the time, yeah? We’re all good here. We’ve more than enough time.”

John smiles reassuringly at Sherlock, and it takes a second before the latter relaxes his tense shoulders and nods back.

“Fine, I’m ready,” Sherlock says with another nod.

In unison, the crew in the flat either stop moving or speaking in hushed tones. John signals for Harry and the other two camera operators to start rolling, then Clara raises the slate in front of her and then lifts the clap stick.

“Chef’s Table Season 4, Episode 1, Scene 1, Take 1,” Clara states. She snaps the clap stick shut and then silently moves out of frame.

John, his eyes focused on the screen in front of him, sees the nervous energy in Sherlock’s blue-grey eyes and for a moment, he’s spellbound by the look of him. By his high cheekbones and plump cupid bow lips, by his long and pale neck mottled with a distracting mole, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. His dark curls take on a darker brown colour due to the early afternoon sunlight hitting the left side of his face, and it’s moments like this that John is reminded of why he ventured into filmmaking in the first place after his brief stint in the army.

To see firsthand what a person is like in front of the camera, to bear witness of each of their minute expressions, and to observe their ticks and patterns that would later reveal their mannerisms is a gift in and of itself. It’s a deep desire to know the person he’s filming without actually getting to know them that has become an obsession for the past nine years, and John honestly thinks that seeing a person through the lens of a camera is the window to learning what truly lies in their heart.

What he sees before him is the enigma of a man who looked like he had lived a burdened life but only recently found his way out of the woods. The Sherlock he’s only heard of from Harry and Clara, and also some magazines he’s read, is far from the man he’s seeing right now through Harry’s camera.

John is looking forward to getting to know Sherlock Holmes.

His thoughts last for all of two seconds before he calls “Action!”. In the space of one breath and the next, Sherlock opens his mouth and talks, and everyone is immediately enthralled by him.

“I grew up with a very diverse background,” Sherlock starts in his baritone voice, gaze focused at somewhere near the tripod of Harry’s camera. “On my mother’s side, they were mostly artists — painters, writers, musicians, bakers. While on my father’s side, they leaned more towards academia — engineers, doctors, lawyers, and scientists. Suffice to say, my older brother and I were pressured on both sides of the family. Eventually, Mycroft went on to become a diplomat, and I ended up a chef.

“Well, when I say chef,” at this, Sherlock’s lips curve into a smirk, his eyes looking briefly at the camera and away again. “There was a time when I chose science; chemistry, to be precise. It is a field in which I knew without a doubt I would have flourished and made a name of myself had I remained focused and determined. But eventually, I learned that it was a profession not meant for me and, as the saying goes, I followed my heart’s desire in the end. Which, in its simplest term, is food. For years, I made it my mission to gather as much knowledge and experience as I can get. I stayed in France and Italy for years, learning from the world’s best chefs and honing my craft. Music is an integral part of my life, and that’s why it’s made such an impact on the dishes I create. I admit that it took me years to realise that there was a part of me that resented my pursuit of the arts, because that meant I had to give up science. However, I learned the long and hard way that that necessarily shouldn’t be the case.

“In some form or another, there is a scientific way to approach cooking, and there is also an artistic approach when it comes to science. Traditionally, these two are considered separate entities, polar opposites with different disciplines. But when applied correctly, these methods can work in harmony. And it does.”

Sherlock takes a pause, reaching for the bottled water by his feet. He twists the cap open and takes a small sip before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The entire living room is still and quiet, John and his crew waiting with bated breath for the world-renowned chef to continue speaking.

“You asked me earlier what my philosophy is in my profession, and it’s that there is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before. But what makes my food stand out from the rest simply has to do with the right ingredients, the proper technique, and of course, the music.”

“Music?” John blurts out in surprise.

Sherlock grins, looking absolutely pleased with himself.

“Of course,” he answers with a nod. “When you play the right music while making a certain dish, your movements in preparation affect it. It’s either you’re making love or you’re having wild, rough sex. When the mood is set and the timing is right; the moment between making the first thrust until the point when you reach your climax. Nothing should get in the way between a chef and his dish.”

It’s like the air was sucked out of him and he could hardly breathe in the small room. John’s eyes are fixated on Sherlock’s through the screen, waiting for the man to deliver his last line. It definitely should be, because John feels like he’s on the precipice of something phenomenal, and the only way for him to fall and to get his breath back is to have Sherlock utter his last words.

In that moment, Sherlock locks his gaze at the camera, and John’s heart stutters at the intensity of the chef’s stare.

“Obviously, music is what helps make my food perfect. It’s all part of the whole Holmesian experience.”

The living room is still when Sherlock, smirking at the camera, gets up from his seat. John barely notices Clara’s finger closing his mouth shut.

With a gulp, the blond filmmaker only had one thought in mind.

It’s going to be very interesting getting to know Sherlock Holmes in the next six weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and his crew interview the award-winning food critic Irene Adler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-beta'd. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Do enjoy!

Early morning the next day, John and his crew find themselves in Irene Adler’s residence in Notting Hill. The award-winning food critic and sole writer of the blog _Food Chronicles_ is found seated on a couch on the living room of her 2-bedroom flat while the crew finishes setting up the lights and camera. Fortunately for John’s lighting department, there’s sufficient natural light so they didn’t have to set up the bigger equipment. The woman, with striking features and a small smirk like it’s a permanent fixture on her face, glances at her mobile phone every now and then to reply to a text message.

John is standing on the side, next to the high ceiling windows that overlooks a beautiful back garden with Clara and Harry, discussing their filming schedule.

“So after we wrap up with Adler, we directly go to HOLMES and film the kitchen staff,” Clara states as she checks her iPad.

“We don’t need to bring everyone,” John adds, his arms crossed. “It could just be you, me, and Harry and one of the assistants. Probably Bill as well, to help with additional footage. It’s going to be pretty crowded in the kitchen.”

“But don’t we also have to interview the exec chef and sous chef?” Harry asks before popping her bubblegum. That earns her a look from Clara, which she replies with a shrug.

John hums in consideration. “We can do that on the spot, which I fucking hope they don’t mind.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Clara asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t know, but it’s not a secret that chefs can be a bit, you know, temperamental.”

“You watch too much Hell’s Kitchen, mate.”

“Well, we’ll find out in a couple of hours,” Harry says with an optimistic smile.

“I adore your optimism,” Clara remarks. John purses his lips in amusement when he observes his older sister blush at the compliment.

Before John can make a teasing comment, Mark — one of the production assistants — approaches them.

“Everything’s in place now, John. We’re all ready to begin.”

John nods and thanks the gangly assistant before shooing him off. He turns and addresses his sister and friend.

“Here’s to day two of filming,” he sighs out. He smiles, and with a nod, adds, “Gladstone.”

“Gladstone,” repeats the two in unison.

***

“It’s a funny story actually,” begins Irene, creamy legs crossed as she runs a hand to smooth the imaginary creases of her long-sleeved David Meister dress. “I first heard of Sherlock when I was in my early 20’s. He was in Italy, apprenticing under Antonio Carluccio, and at the time I just started my blog Food Chronicles. I remember a friend of mine telling me her experience at dining in Neal Street Restaurant, and how one of Carluccio’s chefs, a 20-something English man, just made the most amazing tiramisu she’s ever tasted. She also said that one of Italy’s top food critics was also there, and she heard him ask one of the servers to call the chef who made the dessert.

“So there,” finishes Irene with a shrug. “That was the first time I ever heard of Sherlock Holmes, and looking back, at the back of my mind I knew that he was going to be very successful.”

“Did you ever get to meet him?” asks Clara, who’s sitting beside John. “And if yes, how did that go?”

Irene smiles, her ruby red lips stretched wide as her expression becomes fond.

For some unfathomable reason, John finds himself envying the woman in that moment. It was the expression of someone who is reflecting upon years’ worth of memories she has shared with the enigmatic chef — and a deep part of him is aching to learn more, to unravel the mystery of a man who has sought out perfection for most of his life.

“Honestly, I didn’t get to meet Sherlock until 3 years later. Neal Street Restaurant closed in 2007, and I was in Modena living with my girlfriend then when I officially met him. This time, he was apprenticing under Massimo Bottura, the owner of _Osteria Francescana_. I was dining there with my girlfriend, who was also a food blogger, and I remember her commenting about this dessert. It was called ‘Oops! I dropped the lemon tart’, and I remember her saying to one of the servers, ‘This is really good. I want to meet the _pattisier_ who made it’. The server went to the back, and two minutes later, he comes out with Sherlock Holmes.”

“What was he like then?” asks John eagerly, licking his lips as he leans slightly forward in his chair.

Irene’s lips quirk upwards.

“He was very… young, I have to say. I remember him thanking Monique for the compliment, and then when his gaze landed on me, there was this… odd expression that took over his face. Then he glanced at Monique, and then back at me, and he simply said, ‘She’s cheating on you with your neighbour. I suggest you check the laundry basket when you reach home tonight.’”

Startled laughter broke out amongst the crew; even John choked back a laugh as Clara shakes her head beside him. Smirking, Irene shrugs carelessly and continues her monologue when the laughter has died down. 

“Suffice to say, I dumped her that very evening. Then a few days later, I heard from a friend of mine who is friends with the sous chef at the restaurant that Sherlock was reprimanded by Massimo for that little incident. I was intrigued at how a young pastry chef managed to come to that crazy, but very true, conclusion. So, I pulled a couple of favours and eventually managed to get Sherlock’s number. I texted him, and on one of his rare days off he agreed to have brunch with me. I asked him how he did what he did that night, and Sherlock went on to elaborate at length about his process called ‘deducing’. He explained how he observed that Monique’s left jaw had a smudge of lipstick that wasn’t the same shade I was using and how she sat on the wrong side of the table when clearly, she was right-handed and would’ve been more comfortable taking down her notes on the other side. He basically deduced all of that within a minute of meeting us. Truly remarkable, Sherlock.”

John is more than impressed. A pastry chef with a penchant for calling people out on their nasty secrets by “deducing” them? It seems that the more Irene speaks about Sherlock, the more John finds himself further invested on the curly-haired man’s history.

The woman takes a sip of water and then uncrosses her legs, only to cross it again after smoothing the creases of her dress. She leans forward and folds her arms, resting them on top of her thigh as she licks her ruby lips. Irene’s silent for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, and in that brief respite John studies her features.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t captivated by her stunning blue eyes, or even her thin ruby red lips. Her dark, wavy hair is styled into a chignon which serves as a perfect contrast to her smooth, alabaster skin.

Fortunately, John is distracted from his musings when the subject of his thoughts begins to speak once more.

“At the age of 22, Sherlock was already making a name for himself as one of the best pastry chefs in the city. It also helped that Massimo was incredibly fond of him. But despite that, Massimo was really hard on Sherlock in the kitchen. Even after he left Neal Street as a pastry chef, Sherlock had to start from the bottom when he started his apprenticeship under Massimo. And given his personality, Sherlock rose to the challenge. Back then, he was abrasive and impulsive. He was also rude, and can sometimes be described as callous, and he also didn’t really give a damn about what others thought of him, except if it was about his food.

So, with that kind of attitude, and with his determination to be recognised for his talents, it didn’t take long for him to rise up the ranks. Naturally, this invoked a rivalry between some of the chefs. I’m going to spare you the details, because it is not my business to tell, and I’d rather it were Sherlock who will share this with you,” Irene notes with an apologetic look.

John nods then gives a thumbs up to show his understanding, and Irene offers him a small smile in return. She clears her throat and before she can continue, Clara interrupts her with a raised hand.

“Sorry, but there are some questions the producers sent us to ask you.”

“Of course. Ask away.”

Clara skims through the list of questions on her iPad before settling on one. “What is your opinion on Sherlock’s dishes? How is he as a chef now compared to eight, nine years ago?”

Irene takes in the questions with a contemplative look. It takes several moments before she gives her answer.

“When we were still in Italy, Sherlock was very keen on honing his skills in the kitchen. I’ll admit, I always thought he was quite frenzied when it came to his cooking. It was an addiction to him. Say, when he got stuck on something, like searching for the perfect ingredient for this specific dessert, that man would go through his pack of cigarettes like it’s a box of Ferrero. Seeing him in that state — during that period in Modena — I already had this inkling that he was destined for something extraordinary. His desserts back then were already delicious. He was very fond of experimenting, especially when it came to integrating two different recipes and creating something that is — for lack of a better term — truly sensational. Awe-inspiring, even. It definitely floored Massimo at the time.”

“And the thing is,” Irene shifts in her seat and then idly scratches her nose. “Even though he was already promoted as a sous chef at Francescana, he never stopped experimenting with desserts. On his days off, he would invite me over to his flat and make me taste everything he’s made. There were a lot of terrible stuff, too, don’t get me wrong, but he quickly learned from those mistakes. He’s just… absolutely bloody great, and it’s frankly annoying at how great he is. So, looking back at how he was then to how he is now, I would say that Sherlock has unlocked a certain ability he seemed to have been searching for his whole life. He has certainly achieved his goal of becoming the best chef he can be, and I can guarantee that he is ten times better than he was before. Nine years ago-Sherlock was very experimental; he was still learning, still honing, and he didn’t know where he wanted to focus on. The Sherlock I know now is, I would say, at peace with what he’s doing.

He’s still experimenting with God-knows-what, that man never stops; but simultaneously he’s now found his niche. He expertly fuses Asian dessert with European dessert like it’s a walk in the park, and he’s not afraid to take those risks because he’s confident that he will get the end result he wants. He’s more confident now. He’s a lot happier now, which makes me feel genuinely happy for him. After everything he’s been through, it’s Sherlock who deserves happiness more than anyone.”

“One last question,” Clara voices after a few moments of silence. Irene takes a sip of her sparkling water and then inclines her head. “As a critically-acclaimed and award-winning food critic, what is your opinion of HOLMES?”

Irene huffs out a laugh, and she smirks at Clara before her bright blue eyes shift to the camera.

“I’ve been asked that question several times, and I’ll give you the same answer I gave on Twitter and on my blog: HOLMES offers a unique twist on fusion cuisine, and if I had lived on the other side of the world, I would not hesitate to move to London. It’s a gastronomic experience you wouldn’t want to miss out on.”

A few seconds of silence pass after that declaration, and when Irene’s eyes shift to look at John with a smile, the director nods and yells “Cut!”. At once, the crew moves from their places in unison. There is chatter all around as John stands from his chair and sees Chrissy reach out to help Irene with the lapel as Harry and Bill start to pack up the cameras.

“Don’t forget we’re going straight to HOLMES after this,” John reminds the two camera operators who nod back at him.

“This feels monumental, don’t you think?” Clara voices out.

John’s mouth quirk upwards. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Clara.”

 _Hypocrite,_ a voice in John’s head mutters. _You’re just as desperate to know more about this Sherlock bloke._

John resolutely tells his inner voice to shut the fuck up.

The redhead squawks in indignation. “I’m just saying! It’s nice to finally get to know Sherlock Holmes, even if it’s through other people, yeah?”

“Yeah, I was just teasing,” John casually bumps his shoulder against Clara’s and then adds, “Give me a mo’. I’ll just have a word with Adler now.”

“For possible pick-ups?”

“It’s like you read my mind.”

“Piss off, you.”

“Oi. That’s not a nice way to talk to your boss.”

Clara blows a raspberry at John, who only shakes his head in response and chuckles at his friend’s tendency to be immature, even at the age of 39.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Osteria Francescana_ is a legit restaurant located in Modena, Italy. _'Oops! I dropped the lemon tart'_ is an authentic dessert (the story behind that is incredible) and yes, Massimo Bottura is also a legit chef. [Learn more here.](http://www.osteriafrancescana.it/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are food for my muse!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the late update, life's just been crazy recently.
> 
> Anyway, here's a short chapter (I know! Sorry!), but it has some John/Sherlock interaction! (Yay!)
> 
> Thanks for the kudos, comments, etcetera! Hope you'll enjoy this one!

Upon entering HOLMES and scanning the interior of the restaurant, John already thinks he’s going to have fun filming in the establishment.

 _This is nice,_ he thinks. _This is very nice, indeed._

The dark-tiled floors are polished and gleaming, with the walls painted a rich brown and pendant lights hanging from the ceiling that houses at least two dozen tables positioned strategically across the spacious room. It all looks ordinary at first glance, but the more John looks at it, the more he thinks that they are a perfect combination between simple and sophisticated. The walnut tables are adorned with ivory table cloths complemented with black serviettes, while the walnut chairs’ legs are designed at a rounded angle to support the seat that is padded with black cushions. 

Upon closer inspection, John also realises that the table napkins are monogrammed with the image of a honey bee.

Very interesting, if he says so himself.

“I feel so…” Clara starts and then trails off as she continues to study their surroundings.

“At home?” Bill supplies helpfully as he adjusts the camera bag on his shoulder.

“I was about to say ‘at ease’ but that sounds even better,” Clara shoots the camera operator a sheepish grin over her shoulder.

John clears his throat.

“I think we can start by doing a panning shot of this place,” he says, eyes roving around the room once more before settling on a framed picture on one of the walls near the stairs that could only lead to the kitchen. It’s a photograph of three honey bees, though one bee is only in focus, their wings a blurry shape mid-flight. For some reason, it made John smile.

“Yeah, I think it’d be really cool,” agrees Harry with a nod. “It could also be our establishing shot for the episode. What d’you think, Johnny?”

John hums. “Yeah, I like that. It’ll immediately set the tone and feel. Kind of gives me that indie feel to it, even.”

“This place is minimalistic,” comments Bill in approval. “I really like this one, mate. Thank fuck you accepted this offer.”

“Ooh, a time-lapse!” suggests Clara suddenly, her face lighting up in excitement. “I almost forgot, we should do at least a few time-lapse videos. Also one of those overhead shots with the chefs setting the dishes on the table and what-not.”

“We have a list of the scenes we need to shoot, don’t we?” asks Harry.

Clara nods and then looks down at her iPad.

“Yeah, but we can add more. We got six whole weeks to film and another six for post-production. I’d rather we get as much footage as we can, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, true,” Harry agrees with a nod. “But we’re also on a budget and we don’t have that many crew to help out.”

John shakes his head. “Then I suggest we split our teams into two. One team focuses on the interviews while the other team focuses on shadowing Mr. Holmes. He’s what this whole episode is about, after all. And besides, The Powers That Be are fucking insisting that we get as much information as we can.”

“They’re still badgering you ‘bout that, Johnny?” Bill asks, frowning.

John scoffs. “You have no idea.”

“Right, okay,” Clara intervenes to get their attention once again. “So if you’re suggesting that we split the production team into two, then we should definitely discuss about this later tonight, John. Actually, maybe we should’ve done this from the start.”

John scratches his head and he shuffles his feet in contemplation.

“Yes, of course. We should. After we wrap up, then.”

“Now that that’s settled,” Harry cuts in. “Can we please fucking start now? I really want to help Bill film those time-lapse videos.”

“We can set that up with Mr. Holmes so he can give his chefs a head’s up,” John remarks with a chuckle. They were only making plans but he’s already feeling the usual thrill of excitement that runs down his spine.

“I take it you’re planning how to set up your filming in this small space,” a familiar voice utters from behind the group.

Startled, John, Harry, Clara, and Bill turn towards the owner of the voice. With a faint smirk etched on his otherworldly features, Sherlock Holmes finally makes his presence known to the quartet. The owner of HOLMES is dressed in dark tailored trousers, a dirty pair of black Converse trainers, and a white double-breasted chef’s jacket with his name embroidered in black cursive on the left breast pocket. But somehow, the loose garment still manages to emphasise the chef’s trim waist and lean built.

And honestly, John needs to get a fucking grip on the things he observes about the man. It’s seriously starting to become a problem now.

“Mr. Holmes!” Clara calls out in surprise.

A bashful expression takes over Sherlock’s face as he walks closer to the group.

“Please, Sherlock will do,” the man says. He offers his hand and John, being the one closest to him, doesn’t hesitate to accept the chef’s handshake.

“That’ll take a bit of getting used to, but sure!” Harry quips with a wide grin.

John blinks and then smiles at the firm handshake he receives, and he lets go immediately as Sherlock makes a round of shaking everyone else’s hand.

“What do you think of the place, then?” asks Sherlock conversationally after he finishes shaking Bill’s hand. His eyes dart across the four of them before settling on John.

John blinks again, glances at Harry and Clara, and then clears his throat and looks back at Sherlock who remains silent, still patiently looking at him with a small smile.

John clears his throat once more before he speaks.

“Yeah, it’s great. It’s… really great, Sherlock. It’s minimalistic, yet quite sophisticated. It also has this very homey feel to it, which is really, er, nice. But at the same time it gives you this, uh, impression that not everything you see is as it seems. Like there’s a sort of… mystery to it.”

Sherlock hums and nods, looking particularly pleased at what John has said.

The group is silent for a moment, and then Sherlock clears his throat.

“Now, where do you want to begin your filming? We’ve set the kitchen up and we’re currently busy preparing the ingredients for tonight.”

“Ah, we were thinking of filming in two locations, actually,” John announces. Behind him, Harry and Bill set their camera bags on one of the chairs and start pulling out their equipment. Clara stays behind John but is now focused on her iPad and is checking their schedule and list of scenes to shoot. “Bill and Clara can stay here and film a couple of shots of the interior of your restaurant. And I was thinking if maybe some of your staff can help out; like setting up the table while Bill films them doing it. Nothing too hard, mind you. Then, Harry and I will be in the kitchen, filming you and the others doing your thing. It’ll probably be quite crammed, but we’ll try not to get in the way of your cooking.”

“ _Mise en place_ ,” Sherlock corrects him in a perfectly fluent French accent.

John pauses, and he gives Sherlock an odd look.

With a smirk, Sherlock simply explains, “It’s a term we use in the kitchen. It means to put everything in its place. It’s where we prepare, organise, and arrange all our ingredients that will be used tonight.”

“Ah,” offers John dumbly. Then he looks over his shoulder at Clara, who’s obviously listening to their conversation, and adds, “Take note of that phrase, will you?”

Clara absently replies, “No need to, boss. I already know what it means.”

“Me, too!” butts in Harry as she sets up her camera, Bill shaking his head with a chuckle.

To cover his embarrassment, John sighs deeply and runs a hand across his short blond-grey hair.

“This is what I have to deal with every day,” he remarks off-handedly as he looks up at Sherlock.

The corner of Sherlock’s lips quirk upwards, and he answers, “You’re doing a pretty decent job so far, Mr. Watson.”

John smiles crookedly. “Thanks. I guess. And please, call me John.”

The chef clears his throat and nods. “Of course. John.”

John dips his head, crooked smile still in place. “Sherlock.”

It may be his imagination or just the lighting of the place, but John could swear that he saw Sherlock’s neck flush pink.

“Right. Now come on, the earlier you start shooting, the more footage you’ll have.”

He doesn’t bother to comment at the bossiness of the chef’s tone. He knows how a person is like when they’re in their element, and John just hopes that Sherlock won’t mind sharing his territory for the time being.

So with another nod, the blond director instead responds with, “Well, then, lead the way, Sherlock.”

Sherlock does, and John follows.


End file.
